


Russian Ballet

by Bongolicious



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Mild Smut, Omnic Crisis, Pre-Overwatch, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 20:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bongolicious/pseuds/Bongolicious
Summary: I saw this artwork on Tumblr and I spent half my afternoon writing this. It's messy and short, and my first kinda poetic smut...so enjoy!http://thatoneweirdooverthere.tumblr.com/post/168665124302/day-5-crowdisolation-zarya-and-widowmaker-ive





	Russian Ballet

Zarya didn't much care for ballet. But, her position in the military required she attend the event. She could appreciate the athleticism of dance and ballet, the same dedication and persistence is how she was able to become the strongest woman in the world. The war had all but put frivolities aside such as the Olympics, but Russia would not be Russia without ballet. 

Her formal military dress clashed with her pink hair, something she started doing so she would be better remembered competing. Now it was as much a part of her identity as her build and her scar that crossed above her right eye. 

She made her way to her seat, a tight squeeze for her but at this point she was used to it. Her seat was in the far back, didn't want to block the view for anyone. The light dimmed and the show began. 

\-------

It was her first performance in Russia, Amelie LaCroix famous french ballerina. Russia was cold, and so we're the other Russian ballerinas. They saw her as an outsider, unwanted, not Russian. They spoke to her only when they had too. 

Amelie was fine with this, she spoke only basic Russian and she still wasn't as fluent in English as she'd like to be. It hardly mattered, the performance was so well practiced she didn't need much direction. A few showings and she'd be off back to Paris. 

The curtain drew back and the first act began, three sets of dancers moving in unison to an old ballad. Amelie waited patiently for her que. A swell of music and she stepped into the light with a graceful leap into mid stage with the grace only Amelie possessed. 

\-----

Zarya didn't know the name of the performance, but it had her attention the moment the long legged, beautiful, black haired ballerina floated onto the stage. She felt her jaw go slack, her mind racing. She reached for her program that was jammed into her back pocket. It was wrinkled and crushed which had thankfully kept a small piece of paper from falling out.

It read "Tonight and tomorrow the part of Katherine will be played by our visiting Amelie LaCroix of the Parisian Ballet."

She mouthed the name Amelie, cementing it into her memory.

\-----

As she performed Amelie looked into the crowd, a field of green and black. Oligarchs and soldiers. On a second glance she saw a small splash of pink. "How odd" she thought. It gave her a bit of comfort, maybe Russia wasn't so stiff as she thought. It brightened her mood, deciding to dance for the pink splash of color.

\-----

Every leap and spin made her heart and stomach do the same. Zarya was enchanted. It was almost as if she was dancing for her alone. When the performance ended she was one of the first to stand for the applause. 

Zarya wanted to stay behind, try and meet Amelie, but she had to return to her barracks. The note had said she'd be performing again the next day, she would be there. Making her way to the ticket counter she as calmly as she could purchased a ticket for the next day's performance. 

\----

Amelie took a moment to glance back out into the house, a small group of people were at the stage to give her flowers, arms full she looked around searching for the pink hair. To her sadness she couldn't find the source. Amelie went backstage to her dressing room, "oh well" she said to herself, feeling a little disappointed. 

\---

The next night Zarya was ready. She had a small bouquet of roses, she had styled her hair a bit more, and had unashamedly sat in her 4th row center seat. She was a little worried about being caught, but sometimes life is worth the risk. Military was a bit too uptight, the only reason she was even able to keep her pink hair was the arm wrestling match she had won against her Sargent. Luckily this crowd was mostly unenlisted. The ballad swelled and the show began anew. 

\---

Hoping the show would be over quickly Amelie floated out onto the stage landing cleanly as she had done the previous night. As she began she let her eyes wander into the crowd. What she saw suprised and delighted her, the pink was there again. This time much closer. Her heart swelled and she once again began to dance for the pink hair. 

\---

Just as she had the night before, Zarya watched with awe as once again it felt like the Parisian ballerina was dancing just for her. Enchanted Zarya watched every muscle pull and compress and she was spellbound at the control and strength Amelie possessed. She could feel her face blushing, grateful for the darkness of the house. 

\---

The performance ended as beautiful the second night as it had the first, a roar of applause. Amelie once again came to stage front to see if the pink hair was there. 

It wasn't. She frowned, her mood soured. She felt the need for a cigarette hit her chest, crest fallen she grabbed her coat as she headed for the side entrance to the theatre. 

Clicking the door open she stepped outside, it was dark and she didn't see the large figure on the other side of the door until it spoke.

"Amelie LaCroix?" A rich deep Russian voice said a bit shakily. 

Amelie looked up a bit surprised and concerned, until she saw the pink hair. "Oui" she replied, smiling. She was immediately filled with the same joy she had felt on stage.

"For you." Zarya said aloud in English, handing the bouquet over to the ballerina, who was only happy to accept. Amelie took a step closer to the woman, she felt transfixed, this woman was the most handsome woman she had ever met. She was broad and strong, a beautiful contrast to her slim graceful figure. She felt her own cheeks redden.

"Spasibo" Amelie whispered. Unable to look away.

Zarya smiled, "Bienvenue" she replied as softly as she could trying not to slaughter the ballerinas home tounge. 

Amelie just smiled. "What is your name?"

"Uhm, Alexandria Zaryanova...Zarya". 

"Zarya" Amelie let it roll off her tounge. 

Zarya could feel the tips of her ears burning, her cheeks must be as pink as her hair. "I, um, will go". She began to turn around.

Amelie quickly grabbed her shoulder pulling her back around, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I saw you in the crowd, I danced for you." 

Zarya's heart was beating so hard she thought her chest would explode. "I am honored". 

Amelie grabbed Zarya by her collar pulling her down into a strong kiss, Zarya returned it putting her strong hands on the delicate ballerinas back. Amelie started taking a few steps towards the door, pulling Zarya along with her lips. She grabbed the Russians hands and pulled her inside.

Zarya once again transfixed followed dutifully, unbelieving her luck. Amelie was looking around corners making sure the coast was clear making a quick escape to her dressing room, locking the door behind. When the door latched Amelie tossed the bouquet of roses onto the small couch

Their lips clashed again, this time Zarya taking the lead lifting the ballerina up. Amelie wrapped her legs around Zarya's waist, amazed at being held like this. Amelie smelled like flowers and sweat, Zarya smelled of Earth and need. They took each other in, delicate hands tracing hard muscle, strong hands delicately holding lean thighs. 

Brushing the roses aside the women quickly discarded their clothes, the old couch creaking under their movements as they settled into each other. 

The hardest part for both of them was making no sound. They would both be humiliated if they were discovered. Holding in moans and cursing gave the air an electricity. The sound of lips on flesh, hands on fabric, the hiss of breath when teeth found skin, and the lapping of tounge and lips. 

Each finishing on the tounge of the other, both women grasping for breath after holding in their verbal releases for far too long. 

The ballerina rested her head on the chest of the soldier, both women content, enjoying a moment of peace and comfort. 

\----

After a short while both women stood and got dressed. Eyes lingering on each other. Quietly they made their way back out the side door where they had met. 

Zarya smiled to Amelie, Amelie smiled back kissing her one more time. She handed her a note, just a phone number. "Call me if you're near Paris, and I will expect to see your pink hair in the house when I return to Russia." 

"Da" Zarya returned the kiss and both women went their separate ways eyes locked for as long as the glow of the lone street light allowed.


End file.
